Having thus delivered himself of his determination with many smiles and gesticulations, Signor Ferrari bowed in his best stage manner, sat down in his chair and began to roll another cigarette. Mrs. Belswin heard him in silence, the clenching of her hands alone betraying her anger, but having had two years' experience of the Italian's character, she knew what to do, and controlling herself with an effort, began to temporise in a highly diplomatic manner. "I suppose no woman could be indifferent to such love as you profess, Stephano, and some day I may be able to answer you as you wish--but not now, not now." "And why, cara mia?" "Because I am going to see my daughter again." "Your daughter?" "Yes! You know I told you all my past life. I was a fool to do so, as it gives you a certain hold over me. But I am a lonely--woman. Your manner was sympathetic, and so--well it's only natural I should wish to confide in some one." "So you confided in me. Per l'amor di Dio, Signora. Do not be sorry, I am simpatica! I feel for you. Ah, Dio! It was a terrible story of your husband, and the parting in anger. Basta! Basta! Think of it no more." "I must! Do you think I can forget the past by a simple effort of will? Happy for me, happy for all, if such a thing could be. But--I have forgotten nothing. That is my punishment!" "And now, cara?" "Now I am going to see my dear daughter again." "She is in London, then? Ah, che gioja." "Yes! she is in--in England." "And il marito?" "He is at the other end of the world." "Bene. Let him say there!" Mrs. Belswin nodded her head in savage approval, then began to walk to and fro, talking rapidly. "While he is away I have a plan. In the paper there is a notice requiring a companion for my daughter." "How do you know?" "Because it is put in by a Mr. Dombrain. He is Rupert Pethram's solicitor. Oh, I know him, better than he thinks. All these years I have been away from my child I have watched over her. Ah, yes! I know all of her life in New Zealand. I have good friends there. I found out when her father brought her to England, and that is why I came over here so quickly. I intended to see her again--to speak to her--but without revealing I was her unhappy mother. But--I was afraid of Pethram. Yes, you may smile, Stephano, but you do not know him. I do." "E incrédibile. You who fear no one." "I do not fear him physically," she said proudly, with a savage flash from her fierce eyes. "I fear no man in that way. But I am afraid because of my daughter. She thinks I am dead. It is better than that she should know I am a divorced, disgraced woman. If Sir Rupert were angry he might tell her all, and then--and then--oh, God! I could not bear to see her again. She would despise me. She would look on me with scorn. My own child. Ah, I should die--I should die!"